whose reality is it anyway?

Hello people, I have spent the last couple of months dipping in and out of psychosis, but I now am more in the world of shared 'normal' reality, even though it is a bunch of bill-paying bollocks, where politician pay themselves expenses for fucking us over. I can feel myself coming out of it now, which means more blogs posted regularly.

Whilst I was in psychosis I saw a lot of birds trapped in walls and set concrete, trying impossibly to fly. Psychosis is rarely meaningless. For me the trapped bird are a metaphor for what is going on in the soul. I know I feel trapped on a mundane level of bills, bullshit and Britian's got Talent. But the bird is also my madness, I can set it free and leave this earth behind, but that means leaving the people I love behind too. The bird wants to fly but maybe it shouldn’t, or maybe the walls should turn into clouds so I don’t need to leave earth.

The problem with Psychiatry is that it rips the wings off people, when they should help the person find a reason to stay grounded on this earth.

And I stay grounded by love, art, and making this ordinary reality extraordinary. Having said that, I mourn my loss of otherworldness. Time for a poetic elegy:

This skin can't hold me inThe Heart wants outThe Heart wants outOut of the corner of one eyeI weigh the feather in the spitof dreamsTurn another corner, the eyescannot cover itself with skinBlood is thickerBut no skies stay redYou have to break trees in halfBurn the flowerand stand in its shadeAnd waitAnd wait...